The Thousand Faces of Night. Jack Higgins

three years,’ Marlowe told her.

      The old man whistled softly. ‘Holy Mother, that’s a long time. You must have had it rough. I hear those Chinese camps were pretty tough.’

      Marlowe shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t in a camp. They put me to work in a coal mine in Manchuria.’

      Magellan’s eyes narrowed and all humour left his face. ‘I’ve heard a little about those places also.’ There was a short silence and then he grinned and clapped Marlowe on the shoulder. ‘Still, all this is in the past. Maybe it’s a good thing for a man, like going through fire. A sort of purification.’

      Marlowe laughed harshly. ‘That sort of purification I can do without.’

      As Maria pressed plaster over the loose ends of the bandage she said quietly, ‘Papa has had a little of that kind of fire in his time. He was in the International Brigade in Spain. The Fascists held him in prison for two years.’

      The old man shrugged expressively and raised a hand in protest. ‘Why speak of these things? They are dead. Ancient history. We are living in the present. Life is often unpleasant and always unfair. A wise man puts it all down to experience and does the best he can.’

      He stood, hands in pockets, smiling at them and Maria said, ‘There, it is finished.’

      Marlowe stood up and began to turn down the tattered remnants of his shirt sleeve. ‘I’d better be going,’ he said. ‘What time did you say that bus left?’

      A frown replaced the smile on Magellan’s face. ‘Going? Where are you going?’

      ‘Birmingham,’ Marlowe told him. ‘I’m hoping to get a job there.’

      ‘So you go to Birmingham tomorrow,’ the old man said. ‘Tonight you stay here. In such weather to refuse shelter to a dog would be a crime. What kind of a man do you think I am? You appear from the fog, save me from a beating, and then expect me to let you disappear just like that?’ He snorted. ‘Maria, run a hot bath for him and I will see if I can find a clean shirt.’

      Marlowe hesitated. Every instinct told him to go. To leave now before he became further involved with these people; and he looked at Maria. She smiled and shook her head. ‘It’s no use, Mr Marlowe. When Papa decides on something the only thing to do is agree. It saves time in the long run.’

      He looked out of the window at the gloom outside and thought about that bath and a meal and made his decision. ‘I give in,’ he said. ‘Unconditional surrender.’

      She smiled and went out of the room. The old man produced a briar pipe and filled it from a worn leather pouch. ‘Maria told me a little about you when you were outside with Kennedy,’ he said. ‘She tells me you’re a truck driver.’

      Marlowe shrugged. ‘I have been.’

      Magellan puffed patiently at his pipe until it was drawing properly. ‘That slash on your arm,’ he said. ‘How did you say you got it?’

      ‘From a broken hook in the tailboard of a truck,’ Marlowe told him. ‘Why?’

      The old man shrugged. ‘Oh, nothing,’ he said carefully, ‘except that I had a very active youth and I know a knife wound when I see one.’

      Marlowe stiffened, anger moving inside him. He clenched a fist and took a step forward and the old man produced a battered silver cigarette case and flicked it open. ‘Have a cigarette, son,’ he said calmly. ‘They soothe the nerves.’

      Marlowe sighed deeply and unclenched his fist. ‘Your eyes are too good, Papa. One of these days they’re going to get you into trouble.’

      The old man shrugged. ‘I’ve been in trouble before.’ He held out a match in cupped hands. ‘How about you, son?’

      Marlowe looked into the wise, humorous face and liked what he saw. ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle, Papa.’

      The old man’s eyes roved briefly over his massive frame. ‘I can imagine. It would take a good man to put you down, but there’s another kind of trouble that isn’t so easy to handle.’

      Marlowe raised an eyebrow. ‘The law?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, Papa. They won’t come knocking at your door tonight.’ He raised his arm. ‘I can explain this. I was asleep in the back of a truck. Woke up to find some bloke going through my pockets. He pulled a knife and ripped my sleeve. I smacked his jaw and dropped off the truck. That’s how I arrived here.’

      Magellan threw back his head and laughed. ‘Heh, I bet that fella doesn’t wake up till the truck gets to Newcastle.’

      Marlowe sat down in a chair and laughed with him. He felt easier now and safer. ‘It’s a good job we were near here,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even know Litton was on the map.’

      Magellan nodded. ‘It’s a quiet little place. Only seven or eight hundred people live around here.’

      Marlowe grinned. ‘Seems to me it’s getting pretty lively for a quiet little place. What about the character I tossed out on his ear?’

      The old man frowned. ‘Kennedy? He was working for me until a few days ago as a driver. Now he’s with Inter-Allied Trading.’

      Marlowe nodded. ‘I noticed the fancy yellow van when I came in. Who’s this bloke O’Connor? The big boss?’

      The old man snorted and fire glinted in his eyes. ‘He likes to think he is, but I remember him when he was small. Very small. He had an old truck and did general haulage work. The war was the making of him. He wasn’t too fussy about what he carried and always seemed to be able to get plenty of petrol when other people couldn’t. Now he has twenty or thirty trucks.’

      ‘And doesn’t like competition,’ Marlowe said. ‘What’s he trying to do? Put you out of business?’

      ‘He offered to buy me out, but I told him I wasn’t interested. The smallholding on its own isn’t enough to give us a good living. I have three Bedford trucks as well. Once a month we deliver coal round the village and the outlying farms. The rest of the time we do general haulage work. I’ve formed a little co-operative between seven or eight market gardeners near here. They’re all in a pretty small way. Together we can make it pay by using my trucks for transportation and selling in bulk.’

      Marlowe was beginning to get interested. ‘Even so, there can’t be a fortune in that, Papa,’ he said. ‘What’s O’Connor after?’

      The old man hastened to explain. ‘It isn’t the haulage work he’s interested in. It’s the produce itself. You see about eighteen months ago he took over a large fruit-and-vegetable wholesalers in Barford Market. Since then he’s bought out another and purchased a controlling interest in two more. Now he virtually controls prices. If you want to sell, you sell through him.’

      Marlowe whistled softly. ‘Very neat, and legal too. What’s he got against you?’

      The old man shrugged. ‘He doesn’t like my little cooperative. He prefers to deal with all the small men individually. That way he can get the stuff at rock-bottom prices and re-sell in Birmingham and other large cities at an enormous profit.’

      ‘Hasn’t anybody tried to stand up to him?’ Marlowe asked.

      Magellan nodded. ‘Naturally, but O’Connor is a powerful man and Barford is a very small town. He can exert influence in many ways. Besides his more subtle methods there are others. A gang of young hooligans started a fight the other day in the crowded market and a stall was wrecked in the process. Of course, O’Connor knew nothing about it, but the stallholder now toes the line.’

      ‘What about Kennedy?’ Marlowe said. ‘Where does he fit in?’

      The old man’s face darkened. ‘He worked for me for nearly six months. I never liked him, but good drivers are scarce in a place like this. One day last week he told me he was leaving. I offered him a little more money if he would